The Family Holmes: Talks over Takeaways
by wen-parmadol
Summary: Sherlock is causing trouble again, leaving Mycroft to clean the mess. Greg thinks it's time for a break, and maybe for their relationship to progress...Mystrade, doesn't spoil Reichenbach Falls, though it does take place after.


Talking over Takeaways

A/N: Kia ora! It has been awhile since I've written anything, and I can only say that college has crushed my soul and taken the flair that made me want to write. Now I'm in a new country, and I took a creative communications class that brought that spark back. I do not think I will be finishing One Step at a Time, since I wrote that at a different point of my life, and frankly I think I was too immature for it. I sort of hate it now, actually, and I don't know what to do with it. For Talking of Takeaways, I am thinking of making a series of stories that have been in my head for a long time. I will be taking it slowly, and soon I will be on summer break where I will be travelling for most of it. I cant make any promises on when there will be an update; earliest would be December/January. Let me know what you think of this, maybe you can see where the series will be heading Ciao!

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock BBC, nor any characters recognized in this piece. Just writing for fun.

Mycroft paced back and forth, barking orders into his phone. This was a mess. His little brother just had to make things as difficult as possible. He didn't even have the comfort of his own office. No, instead he was crammed into the DI's workspace, once again cleaning up after his miserable sod of a brother. Why couldn't Sherlock be more like Siger?

Actually, no. Siger was a whole other world of trouble. Mycroft wouldn't wish that on anyone.

"I don't care if the bloody queen has to help, that damn building better be wiped clean by tomorrow morning!" He growled into his phone before hanging up, making another call to use some of his favors. Thanks goodness for Anthea, she could take over the supervision of the cleanup. Meanwhile, he had to make sure his idiotic sibling did not get brought up on charges, plus a press release and the capture of escaping suspects. Not to mention making sure the hospitable he was staying in was secure, and that he did not do anything foolish there, and that John got full access. Hopefully John would not enable his brother…no, John may let Sherlock walk all over him usually, but when he actually wanted to stand his ground, he would. John wouldn't let Sherlock jeopardize his own health. Now, how to word this report…

"Sit down, will you? You haven't relaxed for hours, and I don't think my floor will take it much longer." Mycroft looked at the DI—Lestrade, was it?—blankly for a moment before resuming his pacing.

"I'm afraid there is too much to do for," here, Mycroft sneered in disgust. "…relaxing."

"Well, at least sit down," Lestrade ordered, pulling out his desk chair and pointedly glaring at the government official. This lasted for a few moments before Mycroft complied, continuing his phone calls and looking at documents on his phone. Lestrade watched him from where he stood by the door. "Jeez, you make me tired just watching you."

"Don't you have work to take care of as well, Detective Inspector?"

"Greg. You can call me that after what we went through tonight. Your brother sure is a fine piece of work."

"Indeed. Well, Gregory, my assistant has completed the report from our point and sent it to your email."

"Good, I'll take a look at it in a bit." Greg rubbed the back of his neck, looking out at all the other desks in his department. Everyone was gone, calling it a night. They had been gone for two hours at least. "Look, why don't we go grab a bite to eat? We have been following your brother for more than 48 hours, and it's late. Everything else can wait 'til tomorrow."

"I have to make another report—"

"That can wait for tomorrow."

"I also have a few phone calls—"

"That I'm sure the recipients would rather hear tomorrow."

"Sherlock—"

"Will be unconscious until tomorrow. And he has John."

"As nice as food sounds, Gregory, what restaurant will be open at," a glance at his pocket watch- "3 in the morning?"

"Probably not the posh places you're used to," Greg snorted. "But there is a takeaways outside my flat that caters to the drunk population and seeing as it's Friday, we have more than enough time to get there. We can have a few beers and watch crap telly for a bit."

"I don't know…"

"Please? My treat even." Mycroft sighed, glancing longingly at his phone.

"I…suppose I can take a little break for food. Anthea has a good grip on the situation…"

"And a kip at my place. I have a guest bed." Mycroft glared. Greg didn't let it faze him. He was used to Sherlock, after all.

"Fine. A little nap as well, but no longer than a half hour."

The drive to Greg's was mostly silent, as Mycroft might have been falling asleep against the window. He would deny it, of course, but you couldn't blame him in any case. There had been a crisis in Cairo that he took care of right before Sherlock had decided to wreak havoc, and he had been in meetings with the Israeli government before that. Plus the meetings with parliament and the UN…when was the last time he actually got sleep? He could not remember anything but a few power naps in between…

The takeaways was right next to Greg's flat, and Mycroft carefully hid his delight. It had been so long since he had what his father referred to as pedestrian food. Mummy would roll his eyes behind father's back and sneak out for fish and chips, taking Mycroft with him. The last time they had gone was when Siger was entering secondary school, and Mummy had been rather distressed. That was many years ago.

Greg ordered general tso's chicken with fried rice, while Mycroft ordered a cheeseburger with chips. The walk up to his flat was silent again, but not really uncomfortable. They both were rather tired, and were just eager to sit down. The flat was surprising to Mycroft, who had expected something of a bachelor's pad, but everything was tastefully decorated and neat. The sofa looked marvelously soft with brown suede and he gratefully sank into it while Greg went and grabbed beers from the refrigerator.

"I must admit this wasn't what I expected," Mycroft said when Greg came back, putting the beers on coasters on the glass coffee table. He flicked on the telly. "I expected, well…"

"Pizza boxes everywhere and furniture found off the streets?" Greg laughed. "There probably would be if my sister was an interior decorator. She about had a heart attack when I moved here and gave her free reign. Well free within my budget."

"Well she did a good job. Tasteful, but still masculine."

"Thank you, I'll tell her you said so when I see her next." The next few minutes were silent as they ate except for the telly, some talk show playing. Mycroft practically moaned as he bit into his burger, and he stuffed chips into his mouth. Greg watched him with amusement.

"You really like that, huh?" Mycroft flushed with embarrassment, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"Yes. It has been a while since I've had one. More than ten years, actually. I forgot how much I liked them."

"Well, glad I can help." Greg smiled, and stared. Uneasy, Mycroft shifted, and it was the DI's turn to flush with embarrassment. "Sorry, it's just, I was thinking…you are not how Sherlock describes you, and it surprises me every time I see you."

Mycroft scowled. "Yes, I can imagine how he describes me. Actually, I don't need to: he says it right to my face oftentimes."

"Well, he's wrong," Greg asserted, a frown between his eyebrows. "Sure, you are rather posh, but you don't have that, that—" he waved his hands in the air around his face. "The fake airs most posh people put on, like they're better than everyone when really they are just…perfumed trash. No, there ain't anything fake about your appearance. You're as dangerous as you look."

"I will take that as a compliment."

"Do. And you are not afraid to get dirty."

"I hate legwork."

Greg laughed. "I'm sure you do, but it doesn't stop you from doing it when Sherlock is in trouble. Plus, here you are, sitting eating greasy horrible food and drinking cheap beer. I don't know many posh people who do that."

"That is Mummy's influence. He didn't grow up with money, since his trust fund was locked away. He doesn't like it when my dad tries to spoil him or make him do…aristocrat things instead of the things he likes."

"He?"

"Yes. Problem?" Mycroft was tense, and the look in his eyes promised pain to anyone who spoke badly of his mother. Greg shook his head, putting his hands up in surrender.

The continued eating, occasionally glancing at each other sideways. When Greg blushed again, Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"It's nothing," Greg murmured, but then seemed to steel himself. "You're not fat, like your brother says either. You're actually quite fit." It was Mycroft's turn to blush.

"Thank you. I wasn't blessed like Siger and Sherlock with Mummy's body type. I take after our father more. When I was young, I was quite chubby, too. I grew out of it, of course, but Sherlock cannot seem to get that image out of his head."

"Siger?" Greg questioned, face a little pale. "There're more brothers running about?"

"Yes, Siger is the youngest, and our adopted brother Teddy is the oldest."

"God help me," Greg murmured and Mycroft laughed.

"Don't worry, as I said Teddy is adopted and therefore not blood related. He's probably the most normal of all of us, which is odd considering…anyways; you will probably not get the chance to meet Siger. He's always buried away behind his computer screens and machines. He doesn't like having any company."

"What if I want to meet your family? All of them?" Greg whispered, looking at his lap where his hands were twisting together. Mycroft tensed turning his face to look away.

"Gregory, we decided—"

"No, you decided." Scooting closer, Greg took a pale hand into his own tan ones. "I agreed it was not the right time, but I was willing to wait for you. I am waiting for you."

"You were married, Gregory. What we did—" Mycroft cut himself off, taking a deep breath. "I never felt so cheap as I did at that moment. I felt dirty, and with my job, it's really surprising."

"I know I should not have kissed you, especially after telling you that I," Greg's voice croaked. "That I wanted to keep you on the side. I'm sorry, Mycroft. I'm sorry I made you feel like a dirty secret. I should not have done that."

"You shouldn't have. You also shouldn't have told me you were trying to get back at your wife."

"I know," Greg whispered, turning Mycroft's face to look him in the eyes. He kept his hand on Mycroft's cheek. "I'm sorry. I was drunk, and all I knew was that I wanted you. I've wanted you for so long, ever since you came to pick up Sherlock off my bathroom floor when he was too high on drugs. And yes, I was upset that my wife was cheating on me, but I was more upset that I was trying to be faithful to her and it was killing me, but she couldn't return the favor. I didn't want you for revenge, I just fucked it up with my drinking and you didn't deserve that."

"I don't want to be a, a, booty call, Gregory."

"I don't want you to be, either," Gregory whispered sliding closer, and Mycroft didn't slide back. "I've waited too long for you to let you walk away from me."

"My job has insane hours, and I like it that way." Gregory nuzzled the other man's neck, listening to his breath hitch.

"I know. My job has crazy hours, too, made worse by your brother."

"My family is very eccentric, and that is putting it mildly."

"They can't be worse than Sherlock, so I think I can handle it." He was pressing kisses now, and the skin under his lips flushed.

"Maybe not individually, but together…"

"Mycroft," Greg lifted his head to look seriously into wide blue eyes. "I want you more than anything, even though its been a year since my divorce and longer since…that moment. I want to make things work between us, or at least try. I know it won't be easy, but easy is boring. Tell me now if you don't want this."

"I do want it, Gregory, despite all my attempts to forget you and pretend it never happened," Mycroft tried to look down, but the DI wouldn't let him. "I will admit to being a little worried, however. I haven't ever had a long lasting relationship, just affairs to take off the edge, or to get favors."

"No more affairs for favors," Greg growled, and Mycroft gave a small smile. "God, Myc, can I kiss you?" Mycroft gasped.

"…yes…" Greg brushed his lips gently against Mycroft's before pressing with more pressure. His hand slid into the red locks, while the other pulled the other man closer by the waist. Mycroft moaned, opening his mouth to Greg's seeking tongue. He sucked on it slightly to make Greg groan and their tongues dueled for dominance. Greg eventually took control, simultaneously pulling the British Government onto his lap.

When they pulled back for air, they rested their foreheads together, exchanging each other's breaths. Mycroft sagged, clinging to Greg's shoulders. The detective rubbed his back affectionately. "Come on, let's go to bed. It's five in the morning."

"Okay, but only for 15 minutes. I have work to do."

"Of course," Greg smiled, leading his partner to his bedroom, where they fell on his king sized bed gracelessly. They helped each other push their clothes off, leaving them in their pants and Greg pulled up the down duvet over their shoulders. Mycroft let Greg snuggle into his chest, wrapping his own arms around him.

"15 minutes," He warned.

Greg took him out for lunch when they woke up at one in the afternoon, this time for fish and chips.


End file.
